Acceleration
by BlueInked
Summary: Oneshot experiment. A lone figure stands still in a dead world. Until he moves.


The figure stands still. A package is strapped to his back, alien to his sleek and streamlined form. Its pushes him into the malleable shale, threatens to warp his aerodynamic plates, reminds him that he has failed.

The package will never reach its intended recipient. There is no way to transport it, no way off this barren plane of rock with its roof of steel cloud. He knows this; he has circumnavigated his grey prison many times in search of an exit. He did not find one. He has failed.

He stands still and silent, a statue without a pedestal, a monument to defeat, not success. He has no purpose except one he cannot fulfil. No footsteps except his own mar the surface, no mistakes except his own brought him here.

No effort except his own will get him off.

The new thought interrupts the cycle, startling him out of oblivion. His head snaps up through the dense atmosphere. The horizon is scanned with new interest. He considers taking a step for the first time in far too long.

Every race has a direction. Without thinking, he chooses the crown of rock that interrupts the horizon and stabs at the impenetrable sky. It is the only trophy he will earn in this place, with failure tied to his back and his mistakes carved into the ground. A smile twists his numb features. He would have preferred some competition.

_Run._

He can't tell which moved first, his body or his mind. All he knows is that suddenly both are working in tandem. Each step is an acceleration as he pushes off the loose rocks. Observation born of a thousand races lets him anticipate and negate each imperfection. His reactions are barely dulled, his whole being balanced and finely tuned to each command. And command he does.

_Faster._

His engine roars to life and wheels begin to spin mid-step. They grip instantly and his whole rhythm changes. Moments before, he punched the ground. Now he skims over it, leaping pendulum strides carrying him impossibly fast. He sees everything and nothing except his objective. His joints hiss against the humid air he's tearing through. Steam clings to him like the memories of past attempts, created and destroyed in the same moment as it tries to catch him. Because nothing can catch him now. The crown looms, his self-appointed finish line.

_No._

The race has begun; it will not end until he has succeeded. He will not allow himself to stop. He leans further into his stride, accelerates harder. Ahead, the cluster of rocks sharpens. The tallest spike impales the sky, proving that it can be broken. The first shards interrupt his path and he barely notices, kicking off them without losing momentum, always heading for what has become a rough ramp. A stairway to freedom.

_Dodge._

One of the other shards has shattered. Daggers of stone float in the air, moving in slow motion. He weaves around them with ease, and thudding steps reach the slope. Horizontal tilts, he stops his wheels and bounds. His course is vertical now, the sky coming ever closer. Rock cracks under his feet, but he is long gone by the time it begins to fall. He is surprised to reach the clouds and find them insubstantial. He stamps rock again and again in the sudden darkness, vision no longer necessary. Each leap becomes longer as the pull of the rock far below lessens. He bursts out of the cloud and finds himself the focus of a thousand sparkling eyes. He had forgotten how beautiful the stars were. He is running out of spire, but that no longer matters.

_Fly._

He leaves his last connection to the rock behind and aims for oblivion. The rock has lost its pull on him and he sees that he is not the only thing out here. A band of debris lies ahead. He impacts the first piece, kicking off it to propel himself further. It spins aimlessly in one direction, he speeds in the other, using each new obstacle as a springboard. The package is weightless now. He doesn't stop to wonder how far this method will take him, he doesn't look back at the grey spherical prison. He doesn't need to.

_Free._

* * *

A/N Well, this is completely different to my normal style, but I wanted a break. Best read while listening to epic music, try Two Steps from Hell's 'Archangel'. That's what I wrote it to. It might not be a perfectly matched song but I love it. This was inspired by a TFA scene, but it was imagined in my head with TFP animation. Guess it could fit into any world. And yes, I am aware that I ignored physics a little. Or a lot. Blurr is allowed to ignore physics. Anyways. It's a oneshot. For sure this time.


End file.
